Page 21 of Seale the Deal

Thanks, I say quickly, voice two octaves too high, and snatch the basket. I duck into my room and close the door, heart hammering in my chest.

Were my tits hanging out?

I run through a mental replay of my dash out of the bathroom. I think I was covered. Mostly. Maybe. Possibly. Who designs these towels anyway? They basically can’t stay up without a seat belt.

I flop onto the bed, basket in my lap, cheeks burning.

I am living with a stranger. A hot, dry-humoured, very Alaska-man stranger. And he may or may not have seen my entire left boob.

By the time I come downstairs, Ruger is flipping pancakes like nothing happened.

Hey, I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near breathy-awkward. I hover in the doorway like a socially anxious raccoon waiting for the opportunity to steal a muffin.

He glances over his shoulder as if he didn’t possibly see me, mostly naked, five minutes ago. Hi.

I cross my arms, which is stupid because all it does is make me hyperaware of my breasts. I look at the bacon sizzling.

That looks—

There was nothing to see, he blurts.

I blink. Excuse me?

He drops his spatula. I mean—there was, objectively—like, you’re not invisible, obviously—but I wasn’t looking—not really—I just mean I didn’t stare. It was one second. Less.

He winces and looks at the ceiling like he’s wishing it would cave in and bury him alive.

So… there was something to see?

His ears go red, and I bet his cheeks are too, but who can tell behind the facial hair?

You’re twisting my words.

I shrug. I’m clarifying.

He clears his throat. What I meant was, you don’t have to feel weird. I was being helpful. I didn’t see anything you wouldn’t see in, like, a swimsuit catalogue.

Do you make a habit of looking at those?

Ruger lets out a sigh and drops his head.

I chuckle nervously. Sorry. Well, I’m glad my towel was doing better than a Victoria’s Secret fashion show.

He picks up the spatula and turns back to breakfast very pointedly. Exactly. I saw nothing.

His grip is tight on the handle.

I shift awkwardly because even if he didn’t see anything, I did. Right now. To an outsider who doesn’t know what happened this morning, it’s too small to notice. But I can hear it in the roughness of his voice and see it in the way he won’t quite make eye contact. Even if he didn’t see anything, he’s affected by it.

I clear my throat and tug at the end of my shirt. Well, good. That settles that.

Ruger makes a noise, something between a laugh and a groan.

Suddenly, the door behind me creaks open.

What the— I whip around to see Remi striding in with her arms full of yogurt, granola, and fruit like some kind of health-conscious grocery fairy. Relief whooshes through me. Sure, my first night with Ruger hasn’t been awful, but there have been enough awkward moments that the sight of my best friend makes me feel a bit calmer. She’ll make a great buffer, and I think Ruger and I need that right now.

She stops mid-step and wrinkles her nose. It smells like bacon in here.